Née Williams
by CaptainoftheUSSTardis
Summary: Isla Williams's life is shattered when her mother dies in a car crash, and has to start a new life with her birth father. Although when her father is the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes, her life is bound to get a little less normal.
1. Chapter I

**The sky was** bright and clear as the black car drove on the streets of busy London. Isla Williams was feeling the exact opposite of the sky. She was in the back seat of the car, twiddling her thumbs, while a child services worker named Carol was driving. Other cars and people passed by outside. A group of teenagers made their way into a coffee shop. She looked back to her twiddling thumbs. A tear started to drift down her cheek. Two months ago her mother had died in a car crash. It had been heartbreaking, the phone call with the police that night. There had been a rush of fear, dizziness and then extreme grief for the next few weeks.

Isla grew up with her mother; she had been very close with her. She was all Isla had. The child services workers had told her that she had one relative she would be able to live with, her birth father. A man named Sherlock Holmes. A father was something foreign to her, she'd frequently imagined what he would be like, but was never informed further. Her mother had relationships, but they hadn't lasted more than one year. Every time a relationship ended, her hopes of a father shattered. Coming back to reality, she gazed out the window of the car. They turned on to a street mainly with flats and other various shops. _Baker Street_ read the street sign above them. The car pulled to a stop in front of a small café called _Speedy's. _ The car door beside her was opened, and the thirteen-year old got out into the cool air. Carol got her suit case from the trunk and wheeled it to her. They approached the door of the flat and the child services worker knocked on the door. 221B was printed in gold letters.

Isla was growing anxious and had no idea what she was expecting. She thought back to the name child services had given her, _Sherlock Holmes._ When the door finally opened, a woman came into view. The woman was elderly, with graying hair and walked like she had a bad hip. "Hello," she said. "Can I help you with anything?"

"We're looking for a Sherlock Holmes," Carol said. Isla gripped the handle of her suitcase tight and bit her bottom lip. "Ah, yes he's right upstairs. Come in," the woman told them. Isla entered the flat slowly. It was quite narrow, and the wallpaper in the hallway was odd. "You're lucky," the woman continued. "He's usually out on one of his cases. I'm Mrs. Hudson by the way, the landlady." _Cases? _Isla thought. He must be some sort of police officer.

Walking up a flight of stairs, she arrived at a door and Mrs. Hudson lightly knocked. Within a minute, a man opened it. He looked like he was in his mid-thirties. His hair was blond, but slightly graying, and he was wearing jeans and a white jumper. "Mr. Holmes?" the child services worker asked. The man looked confused for a second, and then responded, "No, I'm John Watson, his uh, colleague. And you are?" Before the worker could respond, a voice coming from the living room spoke up. "A child services worker and Isla Williams." John Watson turned around, and then smiled at the two. "Please, come in. Thank you Mrs. Hudson."

The flat Isla entered was spacious, well would be if there weren't so much clutter. Books flooded the desk near the window, and the kitchen table was filled with various science instruments. She noticed another man sitting in an arm chair near the window. He was particularly tall, with black curly hair and pale skin. There were definitely physical similarities between them. She had shoulder-length dark curly hair and pale skin as well. "Mr. Holmes, this is your daughter, Isla Williams," the child services worker spoke. John seemed quite surprised, and turned to Sherlock. "Yes, thank you," Sherlock said, not even looking up. "Well, I'll let you get settled in. Call me if you need anything," the worker chimed, and then left the flat. Isla looked at the two men. John was still stunned at the news. "You have a daughter?" John asked. "Yes," Sherlock said simply. "I thought relationships weren't 'your area'."

"They aren't, it was an experiment." Isla's eyes widened. "You got my mother pregnant for some experiment?" she finally spoke up. John and Sherlock shifted their gaze from each other to her. "In a matter of speaking, yes," Sherlock said. Isla scoffed. "How could you?"

"Look, I think we're getting off on the wrong foot," John spoke up. "Now if Isla is going to be living with us, I suggest that you, Sherlock stop being so insensitive." Sherlock sighed. Isla was a bit confused at what John had said. "Us?" she asked. "Oh, uh, yeah, I'm his flat mate," John clarified for her." Isla blinked and she must have looked a bit worried. "What's wrong?" John asked her. "Oh nothing, it's just that I didn't think I'd be, uh,-"

"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure you'll be comfortable," John reassured her. Isla nodded and then a question entered her mind. She turned to Sherlock. "I heard, uh, Mrs. Hudson say you work on cases. Are you a police officer?"

"No, I'm a consulting detective, only one in the world." She nodded, a little stunned and turned to John. "And you?" she inquired. "I was an army doctor," he said. "And what about you? Surely you can tell us something about yourself."

"There's not much to tell," she said, looking down at her suitcase. "Well, let's get you settled in," John said. "There's a room upstairs which normally has more of Sherlock's experiments but I'm sure we can get it cleaned out, _right_ Sherlock?" He then led Isla upstairs to her new room.

As the month wore on, Isla got more and more comfortable leaving with Sherlock and John. Sometimes Sherlock would take her to his cases, which she loved. At first Scotland Yard refused to let her near any crime scene, but Sherlock insisted, and they gave up arguing. And even though John would be the one taking care of her most of the time, she grew to like the two men. She still grieved over her mother, a subject which John told Sherlock not to talk about. But what she was nervous about the most, was attending a new school. It was October, and John said that she didn't have to go until the new year, but she couldn't help but think of everything that could go wrong. She was worried about making new friends, if she would even have friends, and the fact that she might teased because of her level of intelligence. She was very smart, like her father, which seemed to relieve him.

There hadn't been any cases for a week, well, any cases that Sherlock was interested in. This resulted in him constantly sulking around the flat and when he wouldn't act like a child he would conduct way more experiments. Isla became worried for his sanity, as she saw that he would do irrational things when he was bored. John said that it was normal for him, and not to worry. She was skeptical at first, but got used to it.

One morning, while Sherlock was reading and Isla was doing the same, John went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. "We need groceries."


	2. Chapter II: The Blind Banker

**That same day,** Isla came downstairs into the living room of the flat just as John came in the door. "You took you're time," Sherlock noted, not looking up from his book. "Yeah, I didn't get the shopping," John stated, making himself a cup of tea. "What? Why?" Sherlock asked, stunned. "Because I had a row, in the shop, with the chip-and-PIN machine," John explained. Isla's eyebrows raised. "How do you have a row with a machine?" she giggled. "It stood there and I shouted abuse," he said, making her giggle more. "Have you got any cash?"

"Take my card," Sherlock smirked. "You could always go yourself, you know," John said, searching through Sherlock's wallet to find his card. "You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since I left." Isla sat down on John's arm chair. Her mind drifted to earlier this morning when she had come down the stairs to a fight between her father and a masked man right in the middle of the flat. As soon as Sherlock saw her he'd yelled for her to go back up to her room. At first she was too shocked to move then nodded to him and bolted up the stairs.

"And what about that case you were offered, the Jaria diamond?" John asked, interrupting her thoughts. Sherlock smirked. "Not interested. I sent them a message," he said. John sighed and exited the flat once again to get groceries. Soon after, Sherlock got up from his seat to the desk. He started typing away on the computer there. But that wasn't his computer. "You know that's John's computer," she told him. "I know," he replied nonchalantly. "He's going to be mad when he finds out you used it," Isla said. Sherlock didn't say anything, just continued to use John's computer, not even hesitating when she spoke. Isla scoffed and rolled her eyes.

About forty-five minutes later John walked up the stairs to the flat, this time with full bags of groceries. "Don't mind me, I can manage," he spoke to Isla and Sherlock who were both sitting down. Isla giggled and helped John set the bags onto the floor in the kitchen. However, before she and John could start putting them away, he noticed Sherlock using his computer. "Is that my computer?" he asked just to be sure. "Of course," Sherlock replied, not looking up from the screen. "What?!" John breathed. "Mine was in the bedroom," Sherlock explained. "What, you couldn't be bothered to get up? It's password-protected!"

"In a manner of speaking. It took me less than a minute to guess yours. Not exactly Fort Knox," Sherlock said, looking up and smirking at John. He let out an exasperated sigh, walked over to Sherlock and slammed his computer shut. He then went and sat in his arm chair. "Told you," Isla said to Sherlock, how was now deep in thought, his hands in prayer-position in front of his mouth. "I need to get a job," John said, catching her attention. He was eying an unpaid bill on the coffee table. "Oh, dull," Sherlock muttered. John leaned forward. "Listen, um," he started. "If you would be able to lend me some…" he trailed off. Isla looked at Sherlock, and then back at John. "I don't think he's listening," she told John, chuckling. Suddenly, Sherlock stood up and blurted, "I need to go to the bank." He put on his coat and left the flat with John and Isla following.

When they stepped outside the flat, Sherlock hailed a cab, and they squished into the back seat. Before Isla could put on the seatbelt, Sherlock had already told the driver to go to the Shad Sanderson Bank. The cab ride short, but no one bothered to ask why they were going to the bank since Sherlock was deep in thought. As soon as the car pulled to a stop, Sherlock hastily got out, leaving John to pay. Isla waited for John and then the two hurried to catch up with Sherlock. They entered the large revolving doors, and spotted him just about to head up the escalator. The building was especially huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows and many people rushing around. "Yes, so when you said you were going to the bank…" John trailed off when he and Isla caught up to Sherlock. He didn't say anything until he got off the escalator and told the receptionist his name.  
"Sherlock, seriously, what are we doing here?" Isla asked, giving him a confused stare. If there had been some sort of crime here, the employees did a fantastic job acting as if nothing ever happened. Sherlock didn't reply, as usual, and soon the receptionist ushered them to someone's office a couple of storeys up. Isla and John took a seat on the two chairs in front of the desk, while Sherlock remained standing. About a minute later a middle-aged man entered the office. "Sherlock Holmes," he greeted. "Sebastian," Sherlock replied, grinning. They shook hands, and Sebastian took a seat. "How long has it been? Eight years since I clapped eyes on you?"

Sherlock shifted his gaze away from him. Sebastian turned to face John and Isla. "This is my _friend_, John Watson, and my daughter Isla," Sherlock introduced. Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Friend?"

"Colleague," John corrected awkwardly. The banker sighed and asked if they wanted anything to drink, but was declined. "So you're doing well, you've been abroad a lot," Sherlock spoke up. Isla looked at Sherlock, and then gazed at Sebastian. "Well some," he replied. "Flying all the way around the world, twice in a month?" Isla then noticed that the day on Sebastian's watch was off by two days. She smirked to herself. John looked at Sherlock, confused. The banker chuckled. "Right, you're doing that thing. We were in uni together. This guy had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick," Sherlock corrected. "He could look at you and tell you your whole life story," Sebastian added. "Yes, I've seen him do it," John said. "Put the wind up everybody, we hated it." Isla caught a glimpse of Sherlock looking away uncomfortably. "You'd come down to Formal Hall for breakfast and he could tell if you'd been shagging the previous night," Sebastian told them. "I simply observed," Sherlock said. "Go on, enlighten me. Two trips around the world, you're quite right, how could you tell?" Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted. "You're going to tell me that there was a stain on my tie from a special king of ketchup you could only by in Manhattan."

Isla smiled to herself, and John chuckled lightly. "Or maybe it was the mud on my shoes."

"No, I was just chatting with your secretary outside, she told me," Sherlock told the banker. John looked at Sherlock with shock, and Sebastian chuckled. Isla scoffed quietly. "Right well, I'm glad you could make it over," Sebastian said, changing the subject. "There's been a break-in." He got up from his chair and led Sherlock down the hall. Isla and John quickly followed. They came to a rather large office, where Sebastian stopped. "Sir William's office, the bank's former chairman," he explained. "It's more of a memorial now. Someone broke in late last night."

"What did they steal?" John asked. "Nothing, just left a message," the banker said opening the office doors to reveal two yellow markings left on the wall, and on a portrait, right across the man's eyes. They were spray-painted on, but Isla didn't know what they meant. After, when Sherlock was done observing the surroundings, Sebastian led the three to a computer where he showed the security footage from last night. The graffiti signs were painted sixty seconds apart, just after eleven thirty. "How many entrances are there to the office?" Isla asked. "That's where this gets really interesting," Sebastian told them.

They were led back to the reception desk and Sebastian showed them a floor plan and said that every door that opens in the building gets logged there, but Sir William's office doors didn't open last night. "There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you; five figures," Sebastian said, pulling out a cheque from his suit pocket. "This is an advance, tell me how he got in, and there's a bigger one on its way." He held out the cheque to Sherlock. "I don't need an incentive," Sherlock said, and walked back to the vandalized office. John cleared his throat. "Uh, he's kidding you, obviously. I can hold on to that for him. Sebastian handed him the cheque, and walked back to his office. Isla looked at John and giggled.

When Isla and John found Sherlock, they stared at him with confusion. He was moving around the floor, poking his head out at various areas and cubicles, and then slid a name card out of its slot and joined them. As they made their way to the escalator, John said, "Two trips around the world this month. You didn't ask his secretary, you said that just to irritate him." Isla giggled and Sherlock smirked. "How did you know?" John asked. "His watch," Isla told him. "His watch?"

"The time was right was right but the date was wrong," Sherlock explained. "Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn't alter it."

"Within a month? How did you get that part?" John inquired. "New Breitling watch. It only came out this month," Sherlock said as they stepped off the escalator and made their way through the lobby. "Okay so do we have to stay here any longer?" Isla asked. "I've got everything I need to know, thanks," Sherlock replied. "The graffiti was a message for someone who worked on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and…"

"They'll lead us to whoever sent it," John finished for him. "Obvious," Isla added quietly. John ruffled her hair in response. "Well there are three hundred people up there, who was it meant for?" John questioned. "Pillars," Sherlock said simply. "Some people wouldn't be able to see the message," Isla realized aloud. Sherlock smiled. "Exactly. Very few places you could see the graffiti from, plus the time the message was left, eleven thirty-four, that narrows the field considerably."

"Does it?" John asked. "Traders come to work at all hours. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight," Sherlock explained. He held up the name card he had slipped out earlier some they could see. "Not many Van Coons in the phone book," he added as they exited the building. Not even ten seconds after entering the cool autumn air Sherlock hailed a cab and the three made their way to Van Coon's.


	3. Chapter III

**Author's Note: Sorry haven't updated in a while! But thanks to those who reviewed. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Edward Van Coon's flat** was particularly nice, and it wasn't far from the bank. Perhaps a ten-minute cab ride. Isla eyed something different about the name cards of the residents. One was hand-written instead of typed like the others. That person had most likely just moved in. Sherlock eyed the "Van Coon" card and rang the buzzer beside it. Nobody answered. Sherlock repeated his action, and had the same result. "So what do we do now?" John asked. "Do we wait around for him to come back?"

Sherlock's gaze shifted to the flat above Van Coon's, and then to the hand-written name card. "Just moved in," he said and rang the buzzer. "What?" John asked, not coming to the same conclusion. "New label," Isla explained, pointing the name card. "They could have just replaced it," John reasoned. Isla smiled at John. "No one ever does that."

"Hello?" a female voice came from the intercom. "Hi, I live in the flat just below you, I don't think we've met," Sherlock said, changing the pitch of his voice to a higher one. "Well, I've just moved in," the woman said. Sherlock nodded and looked at John, his expression saying "I told you so". Isla rolled her eyes. "Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat," Sherlock bit his lip. "Oh, do you want me to buzz you in?" the woman chimed. "Yeah, and could I use your balcony?" Sherlock asked innocently. John looked at his curiously. Isla leaned over to John. "To drop down to Van Coon's balcony," she whispered. The doctor nodded. "What?" the woman said over the intercom.

At moment later the front door unlocked and the three entered the building. They were silent until the door of the lift closed in front of them. "I'll drop down to Van Coon's flat and I'll let you in," Sherlock said as the lift door opened on the banker's floor. Isla and John nodded and exited the lift and found Van Coon's flat. "How long do you think he'll take?" Isla asked. "Knowing him, he'll let us in a good ten minutes after he gets in the flat," John replied, smiling lightly. Isla giggled. Five minutes later, Isla could he Sherlock marching around the flat. She rang the doorbell. "Sherlock?" she asked. No sound came from inside the flat. "Sherlock, are you okay?" Isla asked, pressing her ear to the door. "I can't hear anything," she told John. He sighed and knocked on the door. "You can let us in anytime," he said sarcastically.

Isla was about to ring the bell again when the door flung open. Sherlock ushered them in and Isla explored the flat. It was very classy, with many expensive brands on the counters and in the bathroom. "The police are on their way," she heard Sherlock say. "What? Why?" John asked. Isla proceeded into the bed room, and her eyes instantly widened. The banker lay dead on his bed, a gunshot wound in his right temple. "Van Coon's dead," she called to John, whose head shot up and joined her. "Jeez," he breathed.

The gun was still in Van Coon's right hand. First thought: suicide, but something didn't match up. When she was exploring the flat, she noticed a pad of paper and a pen on the _left _side the telephone. Van Coon usually used the power sockets on the left. On the counter there was a piece of toast and butter on a knife. The butter was on the right side of the knife. Van Coon was left-handed, so how could he have shot himself in the _right_ side of his head?

"Do you think he had a lot of money? I mean, suicide is common among city boys," John told them. Sherlock came into the room with latex gloves and started examining the body. Isla bit her bottom lip. "I don't think it was suicide," she said. John looked at her in disbelief. "Oh, come on. The door was locked from the inside. Sherlock had to climb from the balcony!"

"Yes but-" Isla started but Sherlock cut her off. "He'd been away three days, judging by the laundry," he said, pointing to the open suitcase by the wall. "Something was tightly packed in here. Look at the clothes," he added. "Thanks, I'll take your word for it," John said, rather harshly. Sherlock stood up and looked at him. "Problem?"

"I'm just not in the mood to root through some bloke's dirty underwear," John replied. Isla giggled slightly. Sherlock sighed. "The graffiti, the symbols at the bank, why were they put there?"

"Some sort of code?" Isla and John said in unison. "Obviously," Sherlock replied, making Isla roll her eyes. "But why not use email?" Sherlock asked, mostly to see if they were on the same page as him. "Maybe he wasn't answering," John said. "Oh, good, you follow."

"No…" Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's confusion. "What kind of message would everyone want to avoid?" he asked. "A threat?" Isla said. The consulting detective smiled and stuck his hand in Van Coon's mouth. A second later he pulled out what looked like a black origami flower. "He _was_ being threatened," he said quietly. He handled it carefully and put it in a plastic bag for evidence.

The police showed up at the flat soon after and Sherlock directed them to the body. When Isla exited the bed room police flooded the flat, looking in every corner and crevice. Sherlock was talking with an officer she'd seen around Scotland Yard a few times. "Ah Sergeant, I don't believe we've met," Sherlock said. The officer looked beyond annoyed. "Yeah, I know who you are and I'd prefer if you didn't tamper with the evidence," the officer said sternly. Sherlock was affected by his comment and said, "I phoned Lestrade is he on his way?" Lestrade was the officer they usually worked with and the only one who Sherlock _would_ work with. "He's busy, I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant, it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock."

Before Sherlock could say anything DI Dimmock turned to talk to another officer. "We're obviously looking at a suicide," Dimmock said. "I don't think it was a suicide," Isla spoke up. Dimmock looked at her in astonishment. "Uh, who's this?" he asked pointing at her. "Isla. Isla Williams, well technically Holmes now," she said matter-of-factly. The Di shifted his gaze to Sherlock. "It is not appropriate to have a child at a crime scene," Dimmock said bitterly. "I'm not a child!" Isla argued. "She's with me," Sherlock said, glaring at the officer.

John cleared his throat. "A suicide does seem like the explanation of all the facts," John agreed with the DI. "Wrong, it's one _possible _explanation of some of the facts," Sherlock told them. Dimmock sighed. "How could it have not been a suicide?"

"The wound was in the right side of his head," Isla explained. John and the DI started at her. "So?" the doctor questioned. "_So,_ Van Coon was left-handed. If you were left-handed it would be hard to shoot yourself in the _right_ side of your head," she concluded. Dimmock looked at her in disbelief. "Left-handed how could you tell?" Isla looked at Sherlock and he explained his observation of the flat: the power sockets, butter knife, telephone and pen, which made Dimmock look more annoyed. "Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of _all_ the facts," Sherlock stated. "What about the gun?" the Di questioned. "He was waiting for the killer he'd been threatened," Isla said before her father could. "What?" Dimmock asked. "Today at the bank, sort of a warning," John explained. "He fired a shot at his attacker," Sherlock went on. "And the bullet?"

"Went out the open window."

"Oh come on! What are the chances of _that_?"

"Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it." The detective inspector sighed, defeated. "Then if all the doors were locked, how did the killer get in?" Sherlock now looked as annoyed as the DI. "Finally, you're asking the _right_ questions," he said, looking in his eyes. Sherlock the exited the flat, Isla followed after John gave Dimmock an apologetic smile. When the two caught up to Sherlock at the elevator John said, "You know you could have been a little less…"

"Rude?" Isla finished for him, chuckling. "Yeah well he's an idiot," Sherlock said as the lift door opened and the three got in. "We need to find Sebastian."


End file.
